


To Crave The Rose

by Paradise_of_Mary_Jane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:09:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8063050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_of_Mary_Jane/pseuds/Paradise_of_Mary_Jane
Summary: Soft, her sister had always called her. She always says it fondly, never as an insult, but Astoria feels it all the same. She doesn’t have the layer of ice that Daphne coated herself with, she doesn’t fight with teeth and claws and cruel insults like Pansy. She’s Astoria, and she’s soft.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [obscuro_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/obscuro_2016) collection. 



> Okay, this was a pretty fun ride. Thanks so much to my beta [Honest_Brain](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Honest_Brain/pseuds/Honest_Brain)! Check her out! She's awesome!
> 
> Anyway, onwards!

Astoria was raised to be a Slytherin.

She’s a Greengrass, one of the oldest pureblood houses. No one ever says it out loud—that school of thought is dangerous for these times, after all—but Astoria hears it, nonetheless. They’re better than everyone else because of their blood; mudbloods and muggles are the worst for the same reason.

Astoria smiles and nods along when her family talks about it. It’s her heritage. She has never found any reason to question it.

Soft, her sister had always called her. She always says it fondly, never as an insult, but Astoria feels it all the same. She doesn’t have the layer of ice that Daphne coated herself with, she doesn’t fight with teeth and claws and cruel insults like Pansy. She’s Astoria, and she’s soft.

Her eyes are always downcast and her lips always curved in a shy smile. She hears the whispers, all but shouted in her presence. She doesn’t question anything, just listens. She lets the world happen around her, and stays true to her family.

She’ll make a perfect wife, her mother tells her. Astoria is content with that.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

She’s never told anyone, but the Sorting Hat briefly considered putting her in Hufflepuff.

Astoria is more than a little horrified when she heard the hat’s reedy, old voice say those words; if there was one thing her eleven-year-old self knows, it’s that she belonged in Slytherin. Her mother is in Slytherin, her father is in Slytherin, and her sister is in Slytherin. All her friends and everyone she cares about are in Slytherin. Where else should she go but Slytherin? She politely asks the Sorting Hat to put her in Slytherin instead, the way she politely asks the adults in her life to do what she says.

The Sorting Hat laughs loudly and shouts Slytherin.

Astoria may have been soft, may have been passive, but she always knew how to get her way.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Astoria has never had any reason to be ashamed of being a part of Slytherin house.

She’s heard the whispers, of course. It is hard not to. They are Death Eaters or whatever fancy name they have for Dark Wizards these days. Those whispers have been there since long before she came to Hogwarts, and will no doubt stay until long after she’s left. She never cares much for them. Slytherin is a great house, more than equal with the other three. But more than that, Slytherin house protects their own. The good, the bad, and the worst.

Maybe that puts their house in the wrong, Astoria doesn’t know. There’s a beauty in protecting your loved ones, she knows, loving them hard enough to stand up for them even when the world is standing against you.

Astoria has never cared much for right or wrong, anyway.

She remembers when she went to her first Quidditch Match as a first year. She remembers being confused as to why there were so many more people wearing scarlet, compared to green. She remembers asking Daphne about it, and her sister saying, “We like to keep to our own, don’t we?”

There had been a tightness in her sister’s eyes—only twelve years old. Much too young to look so angry and so cold—that Astoria had never seen before. A few scarlet clad students jeered at them as they passed.

That was the first time Astoria remembered thinking that she understood, maybe a tiny bit, why so many people from Slytherin come out of Hogwarts so angry.

Slytherin is her family, her blood, metaphorically and literally. The rest of the school hated them.

Astoria hadn’t needed any more reason. She’s always had the habit of loving the thing everyone hated, and she ended up loving Slytherin with all her heart.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

The heir of Slytherin returns in her first year, or so they say.

Draco, who’s in her sister’s year, couldn’t be more delighted about it.

“My father says that this is it,” he says excitedly. He’s fond of her and she’s fond of him. That’s what happens when you spend your life going to the same parties, and social gatherings; you grow fond of each other. “We’ll finally get rid of those mudbloods!”

Astoria doesn’t say anything. The thought hasn’t occurred to her, actually. The only thing she knows is that the rest of Hogwarts avoids the Slytherins like a plague. The heir of Slytherin would of course, be a Slytherin, and wherever Astoria looks, she’s met with eyes regarding her and her entire house with suspicion. Never mind that one of the girls in her year is muggle-born and scared out of her mind. Slytherin is Slytherin. No more and no less.

She doesn’t care for the discussion on blood purity—it seems a horribly dull topic in her opinion—but Draco’s excited about it. She looks around and sees that Pansy and Daphne are as well. She smiles and nods her head.

Blood doesn’t matter to Astoria. Family is what matters to her and to her family, blood matters more than anything.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

By the end of her third year, the Dark Lord is anything Draco can talk about.

“He’s back,” he keeps telling her, barely able to keep the excitement out of his voice. They only talk about it in the safety of their common room, of course. “He’s back. My father said that it’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of those mudbloods!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Astoria says. Truth be told, she still can’t bring herself to care as much about the subject as she knows she ought to. She repeats the lines her mother told her because those were the lines she was taught. It just seems petty to her most days. An entire world to see, why bother talking about the things you can’t?

She doesn’t say any of this because she is still fond of him. Just smiles, nods, and tells Draco that he’s right to think the way he thinks. Astoria knows Draco because every pureblood family knows each other by name. She’s a year younger than him, and to other people that might be a large gap already, but Astoria’s never felt that way. They were both in Slytherin, both pureblood, and both believed the same things. Age doesn’t seem to matter when you’re bound by something deeper.

The Dark Lord is a great secret amongst all of them; heard through the wall’s whispers. Something no one speaks of but everyone knows.

Well, until now that is. Now the whispers are getting louder with each passing day.

Astoria is fourteen years old and hears the whispers of Death Eaters in her house. Her sister keeps giving her grim looks when she thinks Astoria’s not looking. Draco’s already shouting it towards the rooftops, and his friends aren’t far behind.

The Dark Lord is back; he won’t stay a whisper for much longer. And as he did in the past, he looks to the pureblood families for his strongest allies. No, not looks, expects. Daphne and her parents believe that she should be kept away from it all.

Astoria never asks, but she knows why. Too soft, her sister will tell her. Soft girls had no place in wars. They’re hidden away or kept as prizes, lest they be destroyed.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Astoria spends the summer before her fourth year with her sister and an entire host of cousins and family friends. And Pansy, of course, but that’s sort of a given. Pansy has been practically been living with the Greengrasses since she was a small girl; her parents had never been all too fond of her.

Astoria and Daphne are the only children of the Greengrasses but they both know that their parents wanted more. Sadly, there are some things that not even magic can fix, no matter how much they want it to. They compensate by taking in as much children as possible. Over the course of her life, Astoria’s grown used to suddenly finding children at their house; to having a constant playmate at all hours of the day. Over the years, she’s learned to grow fond of seeing a house filled with children.

The feeling only increases after she goes to Hogwarts.

Her parents host countless galas, dinners, and get-togethers during the summer. Thinly veiled attempts, in Astoria’s opinion, to assure everyone’s loyalties.

The whispers are getting louder and much, much clearer. Never spoken in her presence, of course, but the walls have ways of communicating words that were never meant to be heard. Astoria can guess at their meaning all the same.

The Order of the Phoenix has re-formed to combat the Dark Lord’s rise to power, just like in the first war. They just used to be stories to Astoria but she has the feeling they won’t stay that way for much longer.

Death Eaters. The Order. The Ministry. Some others. The sides are getting clearer, and the lines between right and wrong, what’s acceptable and what isn’t, are slowly blurring. Disappearing under the looming threat of war.

(There are also the ones caught in-between: the muggles, the people at the wrong place at the wrong time. And the children, of course. Maybe not the children she grew up but children, nonetheless. No one likes talking about them much, though.)

War is coming. It’s time to decide who they really are and who they want to be.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It’s her fourth year, and Professor Umbridge seems bent on taking over Hogwarts.

Draco joins the Inquisitorial Squad, along with her sister and Pansy. Astoria doesn’t; she keeps her head down and tries not to look at anyone’s hands. She silently reads the ridiculous book Umbridge assigned them and doesn’t complain.

Daphne had taken her aside at the start of term. Stay away, she had told Astoria, it’s not your place. Keep your head down and do as you’re told. You’re too soft for this, was what she didn’t say. Astoria had nodded and smiled softly, and it wasn’t even forced. Her sister cares for her. That’s all. Astoria has learned to appreciate that.

She sees blood glistening at the back of half the class’ hands and can’t bloody stand it. They may not have been the children she grew up with, but she does see them every day.

Seeing them wince everytime Umbridge passes them is too uncomfortable to look at. They may have been idiots (Dumbledore’s Army, honestly. What did they expect would happen?) but they don’t bloody well deserved to be tortured for it.

Astoria knows that she’s only a child herself, but she’s always had a soft spot for children. Perhaps coming from growing up the way she did.

She sneaks out at night, when she knows the Inquisitorial Squad had just finished snitching on another group of students, and goes to the kitchens. She gives pain tonics to house-elves and tells them to give them to the ones who need it the most.

Astoria is a soft-hearted girl, that much has always been clear to her. Now she decides who she want to be. Or maybe what she doesn’t want to be.

Not a very Slytherin way of thinking, she knows, but she does it nonetheless. Maybe she does belong in Hufflepuff.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Astoria’s fifth year is full of thoughts of the looming OWLs and threats of a looming war.

Draco has become distant. Astoria knows without asking that he’s already taken The Mark. Her sister and Pansy had both been given a choice and both of them had refused. No one even bothered considering Astoria.

She’s at the courtyard when Dumbledore falls. She’s one of the first people who sees him die.

It’s a strange sight; a great man is apparently still capable of looking broken and mangled from a fall of several dozen feet. He looks strangely human, in a way that he never has.

Astoria raises her wand, along with the others. It’s not for mourning—she hadn’t known Dumbledore well enough for that—maybe for regret, and a little fear.

No one is acknowledging it yet, but when Dumbledore fell from the Astronomy tower, Hogwarts fell with him.

The war has reached them at last.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Her sixth year comes with the Carrows, and Astoria doesn’t think she’s hated anyone like she’s hated them.

They were in Slytherin, full of promise when they had graduated. The two of them had taken the Dark Mark with pride, and gladly went to Azkaban for their master. Now, they’re trying their very best to tear Hogwarts apart.

It’s Astoria’s sixth year at Hogwarts, and they are officially at war. They’ve been at war for a long time now—maybe it never really stopped with the fall of the Dark Lord seventeen years ago—but this time, everyone’s acknowledging it. The Carrows are just another sign of that war.

Even most of Slytherin hates them. Oh, they’re happy to pay them compliments during class, asking how again do you do the Cruciatus, Professor? But Astoria hears the whispers in the walls and knows that no one likes to live in fear. Still, better to live in fear than dead.

It doesn’t help that so many of their own have disappeared. People with parents who were too vocal about the wrong things, people with a muggle for a parent, the muggle-borns. The only ones who are left are those who are assured of their blood status and political views, and there were never that many of them to begin with. Despite what the others might say, Slytherin has suffered its losses as well.

Astoria isn’t as accommodating of most of her house. Her whispers are some of the loudest of all. As far as she’s concerned, she doesn’t like being threatened. The threat may mean less for her house, but it’s a threat nonetheless. She knows she should really work on that. These days, that’s the sort of thing that gets people killed. Or worse.

That’s what Daphne tells her, anyway.

Astoria doesn’t listen.

It starts small, like most of what she does. Mostly house elves instructed to leave little treats, pain tonics, trinkets. Meaningless things really, in the face of the horrors. Something to make Astoria feel better about herself.

Of course, Astoria can’t be called a Slytherin if she settles for mediocrity.

Don’t mistake her actions for sympathy, it’s not. All of her actions, Astoria knows, are to ease the guilt clenching her chest. Just another thing to help ease her nightmares at night. Not about helping anyone but herself.

The war has never been about the children, after all.

Her plans get bigger. There’s nothing she can do to stop the Carrows. Trying will just make things worse, no matter what Dumbledore’s Army thinks. She learns to keep the first years out of their hands, though. It’s easy, all things considered. The Carrows are cruel, but they’re as susceptible to simpering smiles as anyone who has a large enough ego.

Her parents had known the Carrows at school. All it took was a soft smile, a few kind words. They spoke over tea well into the early hours of morning. Each night they spend with her is one less night they spend torturing Hogwarts students. Or at least that’s what Astoria likes to tell herself.

But then, she really isn’t doing this for anyone but herself. She doesn’t need to prove anything.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“I still think you’re mad.”

Astoria sighs. She doesn’t know how Pansy found out, but she really wishes she hadn’t. This is a conversation Astoria does not want to have.

“They’re going to figure it out one of these days, and then where will you be?” Pansy continues furiously.

She’s just concerned, Astoria knows. Pansy is an only child and spent most of her childhood with the Greengrasses. A life of childhood memories has taught Astoria that Pansy has a certain way of showing concern that usually comes off as shrill nagging. Astoria is fine with that. She’s concerned too, if she is completely honest. But she also knows that she’s not going to stop, no matter the risks. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to sleep again if she does.

“Can’t we just agree to disagree on this one, Pansy?” she says. Pansy just gives her an unimpressed look.

“Not when it’s your life you’re risking,” she says.

“Everything’s a risk these days,” Astoria says. “I doubt there’s any way to be safe.”

“Your sister will kill you when she finds out,” Pansy tells her, as if Astoria didn’t know already. “And me. We’re lucky she’s too busy sucking up to the Carrows.”

“Well, we’re not going to tell her, are we?”

Pansy snorts.

“You can at least try to be smarter,” Pansy says, annoyed. “Which you’re not doing. You seem intent on throwing your life away. For them, of all people.”

Pansy spits the word ‘them’ like it’s a curse. Like it’s the worst curse she can come up with. It probably is, in her mind.

“Look,” Astoria says, turning to face Pansy fully. “It’s not as if I care about them. Hell, I don’t even like them. _I don’t_ ,” she adds at Pansy’s raised eyebrow. “But I don’t think they deserve what the Carrows are doing to them, either.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The Carrows are vile,” Pansy says matter-of-factly. “They’re probably the most despicable people we’ll ever have the misfortune of meeting. But their attention is on those half-bloods and blood traitors, not us. So why tempt fate? The worst that could happen is that those blood traitors are gone from Hogwarts, and is that really the worst thing?”

“You don’t have to help me,” Astoria says quietly. “I don’t even know why I’m doing it, but I’m not going to stop. Nothing you can say can make me.”

She doesn’t really know how to explain it. Blood status seems to matter less these days to her. What’s the point if someone’s a mudblood, halfblood, or pureblood, when they’re all dead? This isn’t a question of blood to Astoria anymore, not a question of repeating the same mantras to appease her mother. There’s no one left to please now. There’s only the war.

They’re struggling to live through a war. Astoria’s just trying to do what she can to make sure she gets through it intact. There are more important things than blood.

“You’re too soft for this world,” Pansy says with a sigh.

“That’s what everyone says,” Astoria says quietly. She thinks, for the first time, that maybe they’re wrong. She doesn’t feel soft anymore; she felt soft when she nodded along to Draco about ideas she never cared for, she felt soft when she smiled at Daphne and told her that she wouldn’t get involved. She feels something else now; not quite as soft as she once was, but still not as hard as Daphne and Pansy. Not as hard as a Slytherin can (should) be.

“I can take care of myself, Pansy,” Astoria says.

“I know that,” Pansy says. “But please try to be smarter about this.”

“Like I said, you don’t—”

“I won’t have any part in this, Astoria,” Pansy says. “But you are still my friend, so if you ever need me…”

Astoria smiles. Slytherins are hard, but they are soft as well. Just to the right people.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

She keeps doing it. Not as often as Dumbledore’s Army—they do something to defy the Carrows almost every night, and Astoria might be mad, but she’s not _that_ mad.

Just little things, mostly. Destroying detention lists, sabotaging corridors where she knows those horrid experiments of theirs will occur. Nothing that can be traced to her. Sometimes, she gives house-elves little treats to give the younger children. Sometimes, when she sits in the Slytherin Common Room and hears the whispers of the Carrows’ plans, she writes it down on a slip of paper and leaves it on the seventh floor corridor that everyone in Dumbledore’s Army seems to frequent.

She doesn’t speak to them. They aren’t friends, and she doesn’t believe what they believe.

There was a girl in her dorm, muggle-born—disappeared now, of course. Astoria tries not to think about her too much and how fond she had been of her as well—who loved muggle literature and would bring hordes of books with her. They had always fascinated Astoria, how those muggles, who knew nothing of her and her world, somehow still managed to touch her soul. She remembers one line she’s read in passing during their late night conversations; something she’s never been able to forget,

_Enemy of my enemy is my friend._

Astoria hadn’t ever thought of herself as someone who makes enemies before. War has a way of surprising people, she supposes.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Astoria knows that no matter how hard she tries, it would only be a matter of time before someone found her out. Out of anyone who could have found out, she supposes that there are worse people than Luna Lovegood.

Although, considering that she’s one of the leaders of Dumbledore’s Army, maybe not.

“You’re the one helping the younger students, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Astoria says.

“Don’t worry,” Lovegood says. “I haven’t told anyone. I didn’t think you’d want people to find out.”

There’s no escaping her. Lovegood may seem airheaded, but she sees more than she lets on. And she has a way of always getting her way. A lot like Astoria, actually.

“How did you figure it out?” Astoria says because that seems to be the most important question. If someone can figure it out, then anyone can figure it out, and that is probably the worst thing that could happen. Lovegood shrugs.

“The Nargles,” she says simply. Astoria had never really understood what she meant by that. “And I recognized your handwriting,” she adds which makes a lot more sense.

“You mean—”

“Don’t worry,” Lovegood says. “I doubt anyone else noticed. Only Ginny and I know, and Ginny doesn’t really pay attention to that sort of thing.”

“Why are you here then?”

“Ginny wants to know who’s been spying on the Carrows for us,” Lovegood says. “She wants to invite them to help us do more.”

Astoria stares, unable to help herself. A Gryffindor, wanting to ask for a Slytherin’s help, especially in these times, is unthinkable. A part of her wonders if she’s dreaming. Lovegood looks at her like she knows what she’s thinking.

“You’re not going to, are you?” she says.

“No,” Astoria says, shaking her head. “I’m not. I’m not a hero.”

Lovegood shrugs again, like she expected it.

“We’re not really doing this to be heroes, are we?” she says. “It’s okay, though. Ginny’s not going to be happy.” She doesn’t make the last part sound like an accusation, which Astoria appreciates, just an afterthought.

“I don’t care,” Astoria says. Luna nods like she understands, and Astoria thinks that maybe, she does.

Ginny Weasley is hard. Not full of sharp edges like Pansy or Daphne, but like a rock, solid and immovable. She’s the kind of girl who’s meant to lead revolutions, the kind of girl who’s meant to be a hero. Luna isn’t, though; she moves as if she’s floating through air, most days, understanding a lot, and acting like she doesn’t. She’s happy to see the world play out before her, the good and the bad parts.

She also knows, that out of anyone at Hogwarts, she may be the one person who can understand Astoria perfectly.

Some people fight with all they have, screaming and cursing until the world bends to their will; sometimes they have sharp words and sharp movements, tailor-made to hurt, but sometimes, and for some people, softness is the only way they can manage.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It’s the end of her sixth year, and they’re going to die. The Dark Lord whispers in their minds to bring Harry Potter to them and be spared.

The war will end today, Astoria knows. For better or for worse, the war will end today.

Pansy screams at them to do it. Astoria sees her fear. It’s been a long year. The Carrows are vile, even to their own, and Slytherin hasn’t been spared in their reign. Astoria hears Pansy waking up screaming sometimes—the walls of Slytherin had always been thin—screaming and crying and begging. Astoria closes her eyes and hears the scream of the children she couldn’t save, the children that she hurt.

It may not be as terrible as some, but that’s not really the point.

It’s been a long year, and what is the loss of a boy who’s always hated them? What’s his loss in the face of hundreds of lives? One boy dies to save a thousand children.

Astoria thinks that that’s as heroic a death as it could get.

Pansy just wants it to end, and Astoria can understand that more than anything. Even now, she feels too young to be hearing the screams that echo through the halls in her dreams.

The others don’t agree. They surround him, like an armor. Three houses standing against one. All eyes are on them again, as if expecting to do the same, and silently judging them for pulling closer together. It’s the way it’s always been; Hogwarts stands together and Slytherin stands apart. In that moment, Astoria learns to hate them all over again, just a little.

Professor McGonagall tells Mr. Filch to lock them in the dorms and Astoria feels a hysterical laugh bubbling in her stomach. Two years ago, the Sorting called for all the houses of Hogwarts to unite against adversity. Apparently, that doesn’t include Slytherin.

Astoria doesn’t know whose fault that is.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

People have a tendency to forget the tenets of Slytherin House. They remember cunning, and they remember ambition. History has painted Slytherin as the villain one too many times, and people remember what history told them.

History never bothered to speak of perseverance.

Tradition.

Loyalty.

Slytherin is the house that valued the old ways; they are found in the backrooms of the ministry, whispering in the ears of whoever is in charge. They do it for gain, for money, or for power. But they are rarely selfish. All they had, they share with the people they deemed worthy.

Slytherin protects their own. Everyone else can rot in hell, for all they care.

They’re not kind, and they’re not forgiving. They’re not brave. Don’t mistake them for heroes, because they’re not. A hero would never emerge from the House with a traitor for an emblem, after all.

Astoria is loyal to her family because they’re her family, and she was raised to love them. She’s loyal to her friends because they’re her friends, and they gave her whatever her family couldn’t.

She’s loyal to Slytherin because she is a Slytherin. Because in all her years, Slytherin had been loyal to her. They welcomed her with open arms when the rest of the school would barely even look her in the eye.

She doesn’t care for the other houses of Hogwarts, but there’s something to be said about seeing the people you’ve had the same classes with for six years screaming in pain. Sometimes she hates them, but she can’t deny that the animosity between Slytherin and the rest of Hogwarts stems from something much deeper. It’s not really anyone’s fault they’re falling into the same old patterns. It’s just a constant of the world.

She doesn’t know the Carrows. She’s never met them. Some might say they have the same blood running through their veins, but blood has rarely ever mattered to Astoria.

The Carrows have done nothing but hurt the people she’s known for six years, and drive the people she cares about to fear. Astoria has no love for them.

Astoria is in Slytherin, and she protects her own.

She finds Malcolm, a boy two years below her, and pulls him away from the crowd. He’s half-blood, but has always hated the Carrows. Astoria knows that he’s helped Dumbledore’s Army more than she ever has. Daphne’s eyes are on her but she ignores them. Astoria’s not sitting this war out.

They slip away easily. It’s easy to disappear when no one’s looking at you. Astoria is soft, after all; no one expects her to rebel.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“I found them wandering the castle,” Malcolm says, out of breath. He gestures to about two dozen trembling first years. The lot of them look as if they’re not quite sure if they want to run from the two Slytherins in front of them or stick close to the people who actually know how to throw a curse.

“They should have been evacuated,” Astoria says. “We have to get them out of the castle.”

“We can’t,” Malcolm says. “The castle’s surrounded.” He’s jumpy, like he fully expects a Death Eater to pop up at any moment. It’s not an unreasonable assumption, given the circumstance. Bloody Gryffindors and their idiotic ideas. Stand and fight when they’re surrounded on all sides. They never seem to think of the people who aren’t as brave as them.

“Well we can’t leave them here!”

“I know that! I don’t know what to do. No place is safe—”

“The dorm,” Astoria says quietly. “That’s the last place the Death Eaters would expect to…” Betray them, Astoria doesn’t say. Slytherin always protects their own.

But in the chaos of the battle, seeing the Death Eaters doing everything in their power to destroy the castle that’s been her home for six years, Astoria finds it hard to consider them her own. She steals a glance at Malcolm and sees that he seems to be thinking the same thing.

“Let’s go,” he says.

They begin shepherding the younger students to the safest place in the castle and the last place they probably want to be in right now.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“What are you doing?” Pansy asks, bewildered. Astoria ignores her and continues shepherding the younger students into the Common Room.

“You’re letting them in?” Pansy asks disbelievingly. “They’re not—They can’t be here Astoria.”

“They’re not going to be able to get out on their own,” Astoria snaps. “It’s chaos out there. If I leave them there, they’ll be the first to die.”

“But our parents—”

Astoria levels her with a glare. Pansy’s like a sister to her, and she’ll listen to any argument she may have, but this is really not the time.

The other students are staring at her. Different expressions on their faces; some disbelief, some shock, some understanding, and some disgust.

“Our parents are out there waging war. Their curses are meant to kill,” Astoria says. “Even if it’s these children. Or us,” she adds. Pansy flinches.

“We’re all in the danger of dying, and right now, this is the safest place for everybody,” Astoria continues. “This is not the time for house rivalries.”

Pansy hesitates again before squaring her shoulders.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s go.”

“No!” Bulstrode says, striding forward. “We’re not letting them in. They’re mudbloods and traitors—they deserve to die.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Astoria says through gritted teeth. “People are dying, and I don’t care what blood runs through their veins, I don’t care what families they’re from, I am not letting these children die. Just try to stop me.”

Bulstrode strides forward, withdrawing her wand. Astoria hasn’t even withdrawn her wand when Bulstrode collapses. Daphne is behind her, holding her wand out.

“Get them in Astoria,” she says calmly. She never took The Mark; at first Astoria thought that it was because she didn’t want to get involved. Maybe not. Or maybe she just wants to protect her little sister.

Everyone remains silent. A few students get up in their seats and begin leading the first years into the dorms. It’s a good idea, Astoria thinks, if anyone needs sleep, it’s them. Some remain standing, looking murderous and ready to draw their wands. Most stay in their seats.

No one moves.

“Don’t let anybody out,” she mutters to Daphne who nods grimly. The last thing they need is someone running off to the Death Eaters to rat out on their betrayal.

“We’re going back out there to find more children,” Astoria says. “If anyone wants to help, then do so, but if you betray us, I can assure you that you will die with us.”

A few more students rise to join them. Some just stand to hold the other people back, both from attacking and from joining. Astoria squares her jaw and steels herself to go out into the chaos.

“Come on then,” she says. “Time to betray our parents.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Again, these children are in Slytherin, so don’t ever think of them as heroes. They’re not. Astoria, and Daphne, and Pansy, and Malcolm are in Slytherin. They are raised in a tradition of hate and bigotry. Their families are Death Eaters and constantly spew hate and call for the death of everyone different. If there hadn’t been a war, they’d be exactly the same.

They’re not brave, and they’re not fighting for freedom and equality. They didn’t fight for Hogwarts with good intentions.

They’re in Slytherin, and whatever they felt about it, there’s a reason why the other houses hated them.

Astoria is a girl raised to be soft, and gentle. A credit to her future husband, everyone had always told her. She fought—no, that’s not right. She didn’t fight; she just did everything she could to ease the guilt she sees when she passes crying children in the halls. Daphne is at her side because that was what sisters did. It doesn’t matter what she thought or believed, she stood with her family.

Pansy is the same. She’ll follow her friends to the ends of the Earth. She’ll also gladly curse anyone who keeps her from what she wants. There’s no in-between with her.

Malcolm is a half-blood, raised with stories of muggle knights in shining armor. He tells the school he’s pureblood, denying any connection he ever had with his mother.

They’re not heroes, they never will be, but for a moment, in the midst the chaos and destruction of a war, they did something heroic.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

They win. Or Harry Potter wins, and they just benefit from his victory. Either way, the battle is over, and they’re still alive. They manage to fill the Common Room with as many stray students they could find. There are a lot, and a lot more that couldn’t be saved. But they are alive, Astoria and her friends, and they manage to save some others. For Astoria, that’s all that matters.

The younger students are watching all of them warily, as if expecting them to kill them on the spot. Astoria resists the urge to sigh and rub her forehead.

Professor McGonagall bursts into the Common Room at some point, looking terrified. She takes one look at the Common room, filled with scarlet, blue, yellow, and green, and for a brief moment, shock flits across her face. Astoria imagines that no Common Room has ever had so many colors within it before.

“The battle is over,” she says. “It’s safe to go out. I suggest you go find your families.”

Astoria doesn’t move. She doesn’t think she has the heart to go outside and face the world yet. She doesn’t want to know whether her parents are dead or not, how many people she knows had died. How many people witnessed her betrayal. Daphne remains where she is as well, her arms tight around Astoria. A lot of people stand up to leave. Some stay.

It’s barely an hour before the Common Room is almost empty again. Most of Slytherin House remain—the ones that didn’t run away, anyway—along with a few younger children from other houses.

“You should probably see Madame Pomfrey about that,” Daphne says, sinking to the chair beside Astoria. She nods at the large cut on Astoria’s arm. She doesn’t even know where it’s from. A stray curse, perhaps. It doesn’t hurt, but Astoria knows that won’t last for long. Already, she feels the numbing fear draining from her system. She shakes her head.

“She has bigger problems to worry about. Besides,” Astoria says, glancing around the Common Room. Earlier, it had been filled with all the colors of Hogwarts. It seems bare now, with only green and silver. “I doubt we’d be welcome.”

“Well, I’m not too good at healing, but I hear Pansy is. I’ll go get her, shall I?” Daphne doesn’t bother denying her statement. Astoria is incredibly grateful for it. She gives Astoria one last squeeze before rising.

No one will remember what Slytherin did for this battle. They’ll remember the brave Gryffindors, the clever Ravenclaws, and the loyal Hufflepuffs charging headlong into battle. They’ll blame Slytherin for the actions of a few of its members. Years from now, when they tell this story, they’ll tell of how Slytherin House ran away while the other houses stood to fight.

No one will remember Astoria, or Daphne, or Malcolm, even Pansy, or those other Slytherins who welcomed the children of Hogwarts without a flinch in the midst of a battle. No one will remember how at one point, Slytherin’s Common Room roared with all the colors of Hogwarts.

They’ll call their house cowards. Maybe they are. Astoria knows she was never particularly brave; everything she did, she did for herself.

That doesn’t matter, anyway. They’re still about the furthest thing from heroes as it can get. When this is all over, they’ll go back to their families and fight against everything Harry Potter won. Astoria is already sure of this. War has a way of bringing out the best in people—and the worst. She’s still not sure which one happened to her.

The war is over, though.

Astoria is proud of that heritage because it’s the only one she has, tainted though it may be. She’s proud of her friends, of her family, and her name. Maybe that puts her in the wrong, she doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. Astoria is proud of her family and of her heritage. Nothing—not even an entire war —will be able to change that.

The war is over. It’s time to move on and go back to who they were.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. This fic was a really wild ride when I made it. Filled with questions and doubts in the middle of wild semester. Anyway, it's done now. :)
> 
> Check me out on [Tumblr](http://pdfcct.tumblr.com)!


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